


every day we see more of the same

by Kiseia



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jason and Roy both have Issues and they are aces at dealing with them, M/M, Mild Angst, Unhealthy Relationships, non-mild property damage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 15:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiseia/pseuds/Kiseia
Summary: The thing is, both Jason and Roy are pretty screwed up people.





	every day we see more of the same

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo this is the first fanfic I've written (well, completed) in two years. Not sure if it shows or not?

It's not that they _try_ to fight, it's just—

It's just that they're both hyper-competent vigilantes who've been in the business for way too long, trained by two of the only humans to stand shoulder to shoulder with aliens and gods in the Justice League. Batman and Green Arrow didn't get to where they are today by being nice or conciliatory. They didn't get there by playing _fair._ Hit fast, punch first, play hard and rough and dirty. Both Jason and Roy are dangerous people, and when they want to hurt? Someone will _hurt._

So they try. By now, they know how to read the signs. How to read each other. How to fend off conflict before it reaches a tipping point and boils over – which, admittedly, is more Roy's thing than Jason's. How to talk shit out before they end up _hurting_ each other. Which is all nice and good in theory, but.

The thing is, they're both pretty screwed up people.

"I'm going to say it, Jaybird," Roy says after spitting out another mouthful of bloody dust, his tongue sounding slow and clumsy in his swollen mouth. Jason can't be blamed for that particular injury; Roy had busted his lip two days ago and kept worrying at it, kept splitting it open again even before they'd had this fight.

Jason closes his eyes. "Don't," he says, "don't you dare."

With a soft groan, Roy rolls over onto his side, stirring the dust and plaster that had just settled in the still air. "Jay."

"No."

"Jaybird."

"Shut up."

"Open your eyes, Jaybird."

He doesn't want to. Doesn't want to open them and see the dented walls, the ruined curtains, the shattered glass and ripped wires and spare parts from Roy's various projects scattered across the floor in a jagged trail. They go overboard. They always do.

Jason opens his eyes.

The green haze is still there. He knows without looking that his eyes must be glowing, and the light should overwhelm him and make the world harder to see but every dim edge is thrown into sharp relief. Whatever. He doesn't argue with the fucked-up demon magic of the Pit. Roy stares down at him, looking like some sort of ghost, and Jason can see every cut, every bruise marring his fair skin. Can see his tongue darting out quick and light to catch a few drops of dark blood beading at his lower lip before his mouth twists into a small, unhappy grin. "I'm sorry."

"I hate you."

"Yeah," Roy says with that same smile, "I know."

"Fuck you. Don't say that." Jason pushes himself up into a sitting position and glares at him, glares at the bruises marring his skin in the same shape as Jason's hands, blooming the same shade as the trail of hickeys marching across his neck.

"Sorry."

"Shut up."

"No." Roy meets his eyes with a steady gaze, steady and unwavering unlike Jason's flickering flame. "I'm sorry, Jay."

Jason clenches his jaw. "You're bleeding," he says, instead of saying it back.

"So are you."

Is he? He can taste copper in his mouth, feel some swelling in his cheeks, but the closest approximation he feels to pain right now is soreness all up and down his back from where he had slammed into tables, slammed against walls. Whatever. It can't be that urgent. Jason had only taken off his helmet, his holsters and his gloves before they'd started screaming at each other, and Red Hood outfit offers him a lot more protection than Arsenal's.

"Hold still." Red flakes off from his fingers when they uncurl, and Jason's nails look more like claws as he reaches out and gently lays his hand against Roy's skin. Roy is burning beneath his touch, burning bright and hot and far too trusting of someone who had just hurt him. He doesn't move as Jason plucks out one shard of glass, and then another. Thankfully, none of them had cut too deep, but there's so _much_ of it, glittering like diamonds against Roy's skin. A bead of red wells up and trickles down his arm, and Jason has to stop himself from brushing his thumb over the next piece, pushing it in deeper and slicing through his veins—

Jason yanks his hand back.

"Jay?"

"I'll need tweezers to get the rest of these out," he says, heart jumping in his throat. Talia said that the Pit brought back his soul, but Jason has his doubts. Maybe it takes longer for the soul to heal than the body. Maybe he needed to build a new one after his death. What he does know is that the Pit madness washes over him less now than it did before, and it's not even really a _madness_ anymore. It just…

It makes him _more._ And maybe it had always worked like that. Right after his dip in the Pit, Jason had been little more than a broken, shambling thing glued together by rage and vengeance and not much else. When that film of sickly green washed over his mind, he felt _anger,_ so much anger that he threatened to choke with it. Now, though… now, joy turns to elation, sadness to a bone-crushing ache that makes him crumple and _hurt._

Talia says that the Pit brought back his soul, but Jason feels like it brought back everything but. And it's worse, now, because Jason has no excuse anymore. He doesn't need to borrow the soul of Lazarus in order to keep his own from falling apart. He can't blame the Pit for any of this. His anger. His violence. All the rage still simmering beneath his skin just waiting for a chance to slip out. It's him. It's all _him,_ and Roy is still saying _sorry_ like it's his fault.

And Roy is catching his hand like he doesn't want him to pull back. "It's okay," he says, like he's some sort of masochist who actually wants all of Jason's blood and bruises.

"It's not." Jason tries pulling his hand out of Roy's grip. "Don't be stupid. You're hurt."

"It's _fine_." Roy is holding him so tight he can feel his heartbeat through his palm, a rapid _thudthudthudthud_ at odds with his calm demeanor. "I've had worse."

 _No,_ he thinks, _not from me,_ and yanks his hand back. "No!" he snaps, and he doesn't know whether to feel gratified or hurt when Roy flinches back from the force of his shout. "It's not fucking okay, Harper, I _hurt_ you!" He bares his teeth, hates that this is the closest thing he can offer to Roy's apology, hates that he's literally conquered death but apparently Roy Harper's sincerity is too much for him to handle. "You—just let me—"

Roy crawls over and wraps Jason in a hug, and Jason doesn't let himself relax, body stiff and brittle like overblown glass. He forces his eyes open, knows that they must be blazing green fire like Kori's. Forces them open and clenches his hands into fists at his sides more for his benefit than Roy's because Roy trusts him. Roy _trusts_ him. Roy trusts him even though Jason had slammed him so hard into a window that it broke and the shards are still lodged in his skin.

Roy is a stupid, naïve fool who's going to get himself killed one day.

"Hey," Roy says, whispers in his ear, his voice low and husky and warm. "Hey, Jaybird. It's okay."

He doesn't let himself relax. "I hurt you."

Roy hums and rubs his lower back, and Jason shamefully regrets not taking off his body armour before they'd started shouting. "I was being an ass."

"Will you just _stop?_ " he snaps, because he can't deal with the guilt if Roy's really sorry, can't deal with the anger if he's just saying it to make Jason calm down.

Roy pulls back, slightly, and Jason finally moves, wrapping an arm around his waist and pinning him in place so he can't do something stupid like force Jason to look him in the eyes again. Unlike him, Roy immediately relaxes into his touch. "I hurt you, too," he says, almost sounding amused.

Jason scowls, even though Roy can't see. "It's different."

Roy lets out a slow breath, and Jason can almost hear the sharp retort sitting at the tip of his tongue, the fuse that would once again ignite their anger. Waits for Roy to bite into him about how _just because you took a dip in Ra's al Ghul's magic puddle doesn't make you better than me, Jaybird, what is your problem—_

Instead, he just says, "Okay."

Jason blinks, momentarily thrown off by a fight that is not coming. It would be so easy to bite back anyway, to hurt Roy in the right way to re-ignite the fight they just had. But then he thinks about the puckered scars that litter Roy's arms, thinks about him absentmindedly biting his lip open again and again. Roy dishes out hurt as well as any other, but unlike Jason, he always hurts himself first.

And God, Jason is _trying._

He slumps forward, leans his head against Roy's shoulder and shifts his hold from holding him back to just holding him. The green leeches away from his eyes, sharp edges blurring into a dark, monochrome grey. He keeps his breathing slow and even so that it doesn't turn ragged and stares down at his arms wrapped around Roy's waist, notes, distantly, the sting of small cuts and bruises that he can finally feel.

Roy is still so warm, so warm and steady and alive. Every exhale tickles the short hairs at the back of Jason's neck, and his red hair lingers at the edge of his vision like fire grazing his cheek.  For a moment he lets himself breathe, just breathe. Roy smells like grime and sweat and kerosene. It's not a _good_ smell, but it's so _himself_ that Jason has to press his lips together to keep those traitorous words from coming out.

It's too much. Too fast. Jason had always thrown his all into everything he does, and love is no different. Roy, though… sometimes, moving forward at all seems too fast for him. Of course Roy would have the one, singular issue that Jason doesn't have, huh? What a perfect, fucked-up pair they make.

He can't say it, anyway. At least with this, they're still on equal footing. Roy already says so much for both of them, _I'm sorry_ and _are you okay_ and _I miss you_. It's probably selfish of Jason to want Roy to say _I love you_ for him as well.

He presses his lips to Roy's cloth-covered shoulders. "I don't think we'll be getting the security deposit back."

Roy's laughter is startled but genuine, and Jason doesn't smile but something in him eases at his laugh. "Yeah," he says, smile in his voice, "yeah, I think you're right."


End file.
